


Cheveux

by quailsareneat



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 10:11:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2847263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quailsareneat/pseuds/quailsareneat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hey, Fukawacchi, can I do your hair?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cheveux

**Author's Note:**

> ive never written either of these two before  
> merry christmas, kayak!

“I-it's impossible.”

Hagakure felt a small pair of hands disengage themselves from the midst of his dreads.

“Come on, Fukawacchi, anything is possible if you try!”

“I-I'm telling you, you can't braid hair like that!”

Hmphing, Hagakure sat up and touched his hair. Maybe she was right; the dreads were pretty stiff, and the most he had ever done with them had been to tie them up in a ponytail.

“I guess you're right. Ahh, man, and I was hoping we could match,” he said, rubbing his cheek. “Well, we could still match if you let me give you dreads!”

“Wh-what?!” Fukawa stepped backwards out of his reach. “N-no way! You th-think I would want to look like a s-sea urchin or something?!”

“Ahh, Fukawacchi! Don't hurt my feelings like that!” But Hagakure softened his words by laughing, enjoying the back and forth. When he had shown up earlier and asked her to do his hair, he hadn't expected her to agree – though reluctantly, she still did. _But them's the breaks_ , he thought to himself, touching his dreads again.

“If you can't do my hair, how about I do yours?”

His words hung in the air. Fukawa stood, still clutching at her braids from when she had jumped back, staring at him. Hagakure had always been reminded of a jack rabbit whenever he saw her: wary of others, but with a strong bite. _Kinda cute, too_. He wondered if this would be the time when she'd run away; if, like a wild animal running from danger, he had gotten too close.

“...As long as you don't give me dreads.”

It took him a moment to register what she had said, but when he did, his smile burst forth and brightened the room.

“I-I haven't – w-washed it in a while... s-so it's disgusting,” Fukawa said. If she had thought it would deter him, she was wrong. Hagakure just kept smiling.

“I'll wash it for you!”

“Wh-” Fukawa started, but she was already being steered toward the sink. “D-don't touch it!”

“I have to touch it to style it,” Hagakure hummed. He pulled the ties off the ends of her braids and slowly started pulling them apart, Fukawa's long hair falling loose, slightly wavy from the style. It reminded him of waterfalls trailing down her back almost endlessly, flipping up slightly at the tips like the water would when splashing against the rocks at the bottom. Gently, he combed it. The brush sometimes snagged, catching on small knots of hair, and Hagakure worked through them as best he could without pulling. He could hear a constant stream of grumbling coming from Fukawa; but she hadn't told him to stop, so he continued to brush her hair.

“I'll be right back,” he said. Moments later he returned, arms laden with bottles and a towl. Setting them out on the counter, he grinned. “Welcome to Hagakure's Salon!”

He draped the towel around Fukawa's shoulders and turned the tap on the sink.

“Let me know if the water is too warm, okay, Fukawacchi?”

With her head mostly submerged in the running water, Fukawa couldn't hear anything Hagakure said after that, but he kept talking anyway. She could see his lips moving still. It didn't seem to bother him that she wasn't replying, though; on the contrary, he looked to be enjoying himself a lot as he sang quietly and told stories to which he didn't expect a reaction.

His hands ran over her scalp and through her hair, moving the water over it. It was like clouds in the water, curling over the surface of the sink, tendrils of dark brown. Unsure of how much shampoo to use for that much hair, Hagakure dumped half of the bottle into his hand. _Nothin' but the best for Fukawacchi_ , he thought to himself.

When he had finished lathering her hair with shampoo and conditioner, he let the water run a little longer. It wasn't often Fukawa let him play with her hair like that; he wanted to make the most of it. Now clean, it slid silky over his fingers, water running in rivulets from the ends.

“Your hair makes ya look like a princess in a tower!” Hagakure said, knowing she wouldn't be able to hear him. “That's another thing I like about you... Toukocchi!”

_So I guess that makes me the knight in shining armour. ...Or maybe the dragon. It would be so cool to be a dragon._

Shutting off the water, he wrapped her hair tightly in the towel.

“Okay, time to style!”

When Hagakure had first met Fukawa, they had been like water and oil – no chance of mixing. But slowly, slowly, their components had started changing. Trust and a beginning understanding had become the foundation of their castle and, brick by brick, hard work had built their walls.

Hagakure could tell Fukawa was reaching her quota for being touched for the day; she hadn't run away yet, but he didn't want to make her endure it for much longer. Slipping her hair through his hands for the last time, he styled it quickly, then turned her to face the mirror.

“A ponytail..?” Fukawa said, turning her head to the side. Her eyes widened. “What's that..?”

She pointed at the ponytail, on which there was a sparkling butterfly attached to the tie.

“Your present!” Hagakure exclaimed. “Merry Christmas, Fukawacchi!”


End file.
